Barb Parry of Foxfire Fiber is doing the hard work of lambing, and we get to follow along via the Lamb Cam.

Take a look at her new blog, Sheep Gal, and be sure to click on the photos to see the details. The lamb sweaters...oh, my!

Voices From the Past: December 2006 by storyteller Kate Dudding

This is the second issue of "Voices From the Past." My goal for each issue is to publish highlights of one of my historical stories as well as an update on my activities. Please feel free to forward this e-newsletter to anyone you think might be interested.

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The Cape Hatteras Lighthouse
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Whenever I create a story, I have to decide from which perspective I will tell the story. With its long history, I couldn't tell the story of this lighthouse from any one person's perspective. So I decided to tell it from the lighthouse's perspective. Here's how this story starts:

"I am the Guardian of the Graveyard of the Atlantic. For over 130 years, by day and by night, I have warned ships to keep away. I am the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, the tallest brick lighthouse in the world.

Since you do not live near me in North Carolina, you may not know what the Graveyard of the Atlantic is. It's the part of Atlantic Ocean that I overlook.

The water there is shallow and it extends almost 20 miles off shore. But that's not why it's dangerous. It's dangerous because two underwater currents collide out there. The warm Gulf Stream from the Gulf of Mexico is constantly colliding with the cold Labrador Current from Canada. That constant colliding continually churns up of the sandy bottom. No one knows from one day to the next where the sandbars are.

Over 2,200 ships have run aground in the Graveyard of the Atlantic.
That's why I'm here, to warn ships to keep away.

So I need to be seen 20 miles away. I need to be tall enough to overcome the curvature of the earth. You people know about the curvature of the earth, but you are too small to actually see it. Unlike me."

The lighthouse goes on to describe its physical characteristics, the keepers and their families who lived around it, the erosion which threatened its existence, and its historic move a half a mile inland.

Here are some links to more information about the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse: www.katedudding.com/newsletters/cape-hatteras.shtml

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What I've Been Doing
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My first CD: "Lighting the Way Home - Stories of Lighthouses and Their Keepers" was released in November. Renowned international storyteller Elizabeth Ellis says, "What a wonderful job you have done. There is a great mix of material on the CD. I really like the first person account from the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse's point of view. An unexpected treat. The tales are well chosen, well crafted and well told. Hats off! A job well done!" For more details, see www.katedudding.com/recordings.shtml .

I'll be telling these stories at First Night Saratoga on Dec. 31, 7:00 pm and 9:00 pm, at FedEx-Kinko's, on the corner of Broadway and Congress.

Earlier this month, I did research at the archives of the Smithsonian's Museum of American History, on a chocolate story, and on a story of a woman pioneer in the computer industry.

On Sunday, March 18, Nancy Marie Payne and I will be doing a program called "Up, Up, and Away! Stories of Pioneer Women Aviators." This program is part of Story Sundays at the Glen Sanders Mansion, a storytelling dinner series for adults, now in its eighth season. 1 Glen Avenue, Scotia, NY. $26, including dinner.
More information: www.timesunion.com/communities/storycircle Reservations: (518) 384-1700

Thanks for reading this issue. I'll be sending you some more story highlights next year. Happy Holidays to you and yours.

Kate Dudding kate@katedudding.com
Bringing History to Life www.katedudding.com

8 Sandalwood Drive, Clifton Park, NY 12065-2700 USA
(518) 383-4620

Most recently, you may have heard of her in her role as publisher of Nomad Press, publisher of books for intrepid knitters including this recently released book:

Arctic Lace: Knitted projects and stories inspired by Alaska’s native knitters
by Donna Druchunas

The approximately 250 Native Alaskan members of the Oomingmak Musk Ox Producers’ Co-operative harvest the ultra-fine, ultra-soft underdown of musk-oxen, known as qiviut, and use the resulting yarn to knit lace garments whose designs are inspired by traditional designs and culture. Author Donna Druchunas has traveled to Alaska and brought back her experiences with these knitters and their wonderful textiles.

It's okay to drool, especially on your own copy.

Ah, it's hard to know where to begin with Wren. She's been an important part of KnitLit from the beginning, and her performances at many of the readings were always a hit. If you missed her singing, you can get the CD here. If you want to know more about the songs, Clara Parkes of Knitter's Review describes them perfectly.
Then, of course, there's Wren's new book, Changing Patterns, written with Daena Giardella.

And her story sweaters...
Do check her out. She's the best.

I asked Wren to write about writing...and here's her reply:

Changing Patterns: Discovering the Fabric of Your Creativity

When my life partner Daena Giardella and I titled our book Changing Patterns: Discovering the Fabric of Your Creativity, we should have expected that there would be some alteration in the tapestry of our life.
For instance, at noon on the day that our first draft was due, the editor called me at our home, which is near Cambridge, Massachusetts, to say, “Got the manuscript for Changing Patterns. Looks good.” Then, at 12:03pm Daena’s phone rang and the landlord for the beautiful vacation casita we had rented year-round in New Mexico for the past seven years said: “We sold the property.”
Yep, we got the message. We would need to move our belongings. It was time to change one of our patterns.
CHANGING PATTERNS: Discovering the Fabric of Your Creativity invites readers to explore the power of creativity as a tool for self-development, change, and fulfillment. It helps people find ways to overcome the patterns that keep them from being creative in order to live a more meaningful life. Both Daena and I have deep respect for the creative process and our basic need as human beings for self-expression.
For me, creativity has been a refuge––a spiritual experience that got me though a difficult childhood. I designed and knitted clothes for my Barbie doll, wrote in my journal, acted out imaginary characters, and sang songs accompanying myself on guitar. I found companionship and meaning in all my creative efforts. I got to know myself.
I can see myself in a mirror to get a sense of what I look like. If I want to know the condition of my internal organs, my doctor will order an X-Ray or ultrasound. But the creative process provides a snapshot of my spirit: It’s how I get to know who I am––what I think, what I feel, what I believe, and what matters to me.
Daena and I wanted our book to be a road map for the creativity seeker. Her part helps the readers to navigate all the psychological stages of the creative process, deal with their inner-critic voices, encounter resistance and get to know their natural cycles and modes of creativity.
My part of the book explores knitting as an example of creative expression. Although I’m a performing artist by trade, I chose to use knitting because it is accessible, popular, and not as threatening as singing or acting. Of course the real reason I chose it is because knitting is my passion. I invite the reader to see the world through the eyes of a knitter in order to explore the rich life metaphors and lessons found in the craft. How you begin and end a project, get into and out of tangles and deal with mistakes can teach you a lot about the creative process and yourself.
So, what did I learn about myself while knitting? I found I was optimistic when casting-on but often had moments of disillusion and discouragement as I progressed. I certainly had resistance to ending. I noticed how much “start-itis” I exhibit as a knitter. At one point, I must have had at least 15-18 projects on the needle simultaneously.
I became fascinated with the word “cast,” which of course, is how knitters begin a project: we cast-on. There are more than 40 different ways to cast-on and over 40 different definitions for the word cast. We can cast a mold, cast a fishing line, cast an actor to play a role, cast a darting glance, or cast a ballot—just to name a few. In knitting, there are many methods for casting on: long tail, cable, knitted, crochet, provisional, and so on. There are many different ways to begin! I made a connection that one needs both the freedom of casting a fishing line and the solidity of casting a plaster mold when beginning any endeavor.
Being an avid knitter and knowing the truth about knitting, “As you knit, so shall you rip,” I also encountered the theme of dealing with mistakes. I wrote about the life lessons that can be gained from making mistakes in a chapter called, “Tinking, Frogging, Toads, and Princes.”
I continued the conversation I began in Knit Lit I with the numerous tangles I encounter in my knitting (and life) in a chapter called, “Tangling Conversation.”
I also did a lot of research into the symbolism of knots. Since the word knitting comes from the Old English word cnyttan: to tie in a knot, I wanted to investigate the meaning of knots. I wrote in Changing Patterns, “We come into the world attached by a cord, and our first amulet of life is a knot in our navel, our very center. As children, learning to tie a knot on our shoes is a rite of passage symbolizing independence and a newfound ability to stand on our own two feet. We ‘tie the knot’ when we’re getting married to create a lifelong bond. Stress produces knots in our muscles that let us know we need to unwind. When we die, we untie the knot that connects us to our material bodies.”
It was fascinating to learn about knots in other cultures and religions. I spoke with Buddhist monks, Kabbalistic rabbis, Franciscan priests, sailors, Native Americans, and a woman who performs the Jewish ritual of preparing a deceased person for burial. Knots are symbols that represent the profound dualities of the human experience. Within one symbol, knots can represent the seemingly contradictory forces of birth and death, freedom and union. We can untie knots to release and tie them to unite. The very words unite and untie have a bond: They’re both composed of the same five letters, and their meanings may change by merely switching the i and t within the word.
I designed two knitting projects that I included in a chapter called, “Knitting Patterns for Life.” One was a cape using Himalaya Yarn’s recycled sari silk from Nepal blended with Classic Elite’s LaGran mohair. I called it “The Cape of Constant Change” because the story of the recycled silk is that of transformation. It starts as threads emerging from the silk worm that changes into a moth, a symbol of metamorphosis.
The silk is then woven to become a sari, which is itself a shape-shifting garment. Saris are made of rectangular cloth draped to flatter the form of the body. When the wearer takes it off, the sari morphs back to its original rectangular shape. The remnants of these saris are cast off in the cutting room. The seemingly worthless shreds that fall to the ground are gathered, and then spun into a new and splendid yarn that rises in value. Now we take that recycled yarn and convert it into a cape.
The other project is called “The Seeds of Intention Scarf.” This scarf is a special knitting meditation ritual that creates a tactile prayer. I wanted to make a scarf that would be soft and comforting so I chose white Rowan Big Wool because it reminds me of cotton balls. When I am distressed, Daena often tells me that she wants to cushion me in millions of cotton balls. Her kind wish always makes me feel better.
I used the seed stitch, not just because it lies flat and looks lovely, but because of the symbolic value of seeds. Lao Tzu said, “To see things in the seed, that is genius.” Seeds promote growth. I wanted the stitches to be seeds for self-love and compassion with the reminder that gardens, knitting, and people take time to develop. We need to fertilize and water ourselves with patience, kindness, and insight and not expect results instantaneously.
I begin the ritual of making the Seeds of Intention Scarf by washing my hands. This is my transition from the daily grind of endless “must do lists” to the sacred time of quiet reflection. Next, I light a candle to welcome inspiration. Then I take my soft, white, fluffy yarn from its embroidered bag, place a clean white cloth on my lap, and begin to knit. Slowly. Each stitch is a seed of intention for something I want or need. If I am feeling anxious, I may knit an affirmation such as: I am secure and connected to myself and others with compassion. If someone I know is ill, I wish that person good health through my stitches. I knit to support qualities in myself that I want to cultivate: kindness, hope, clarity, and love. This knitting meditation kept me balanced and centered during the entire writing process.
I am now introducing the practice of making Seeds of Intention scarves to hospitals and other places where people need to find contemplation, comfort, and hope.
I had another “changing pattern” as I traveled through the new terrain of working on this book. I was surprised to discover how much I loved writing. All my life, I have used my voice in song and as a voice-over actor. I’ve interpreted lyrics, narrated documentaries about subjects as diverse as psychics in Russia and the history of women who ride motorcycles. My voice has called shoppers to attention, and told folks to press #1 for customer assistance. Although I’ve been keeping a journal since I was seven, it was a new experience to dig diligently into my observations, investigations, and reflections in order to find my inner-voice. Of course, the fact that I was getting paid to write and observe myself knit was ecstasy.
What was the fabric of my creativity as a writer? I discovered that I like to make a big mess and then clean it up. I loved to accumulate thousands of scraps of paper scribbled with research, memories, stories, quotes, and stray thoughts. I would fill countless notebooks with sentence fragments, rough drafts, and the free flowing streaming exercises that we introduce in the book. I collected books by the truckload. I printed scores of articles from the Internet. I read on the elliptical machine at the gym, at stop lights, and, on more than ten occasions, my rambunctious “muse” would yank me out of bed with a sentence that had to be jotted down on whatever resembled paper near the bed. But when my office became littered with sticky notes that said “simplify, simplify”, I knew I had to stop the bedlam of incoming “inspiration” and start creating order out of the chaos. It was time to prune. I put all the important stuff into one notebook and one word doc and weeded out what was important. The end result of enormous distillation would often yield one paragraph. And so it went on like that from November 04 to November 05.
Then came time to end. That part was very difficult for me. I spent a lot of time observing my resistance to ending. I have always hated to finish my knitting projects. I give them to professional “finishers” or discard them as TOADS (Trashed Objects Abandoned in Disgust).
I thought a lot about our aging cat Molly and how I treasured her. As our deadline approached, I knew her end was near. I began to think that a lot of my difficulty with finishing anything has to do with my fear of loss. Maybe that is why I kept starting new projects––I was trying to ward off the end. But I knew I was also robbing myself of the satisfaction of completion, and that was frustrating. And then I realized, once again, that the fact that everything comes to an end makes life precious. If I avoid the emotion that comes with ending, I deny myself a chance to experience life more intimately. Can I dare to face the reality that each moment will be lost but live in the center of it anyway?
At the end of the editing process, I found myself obsessed with petting, kissing and holding Molly. Each time she sat on my lap, I felt profound gratitude for her soft black fur, soulful eyes, and the steady hum of her purr. I also felt infinite appreciation for all the hours and love that Daena and I poured into each page of the book. We finished the very last of all copy-editing at 2:15am on November 16, 2005. Every single word, comma and period was as it would be when printed.
When I woke up at 7:30am, I found Molly lifeless on the floor next to the chairs in front of the computer where we had spent the past year-and-a-half. She had been a constant companion for almost eighteen years. Molly was my “love-guru” and taught me how to open my heart. It seemed her heart had given out. Now she was gone.
It is hard to put a positive “new-age” spin on her death, as it was a harsh blow to both Daena and me. Animals may be small, but their presence in the home is very large. We miss Molly terribly.
I wish I didn’t have to end this essay on a sad note. But maybe that is the point: Life is full of the sometimes painful, sometimes ecstatic mess of change. We can’t control the amount of loss we will experience, but we can express ourselves and make something meaningful and beautiful that will communicate the depths and heights of what we think and feel. We can extend beyond the barriers of our bodies and connect to each other through the creative process in the same way that each stitch links to the next in a sweater. Creativity is the balm that makes it all bearable and exquisite. Even in her death, Molly passes on important messages of love and wisdom: Take nothing for granted. Love yourself and those around you with gusto. Know that life will be filled with cycles of growth and change. Let yourself encounter all your tangles, mistakes, challenges, and habitual patterns with grace, respect, humor, and compassion. Celebrate your curiosity and give flame to your passion. Let your life be a creative process––a beautiful fabric of self-discovery, fulfillment and joy.

Christine Lavin will begin with a song, and contributors from each of the KnitLit books will be there: Kay Gardner (what a trouper); Cathy Cooper, Naomi Dagen Bloom, Rena Cobrinik, Jenny Feldon, Claudia Conner and catalyst Nilda Mesa.

Hope to see you there!

Each event is unique. The group, the knitting, the readers and stories all combine differently every time. And a theme emerges. At the Odyssey, for me the theme was NOT knitting. Tzivia read her remarkable poem about not -knitting, and Margaret talked mostly of animals. There were several non-knitters in the group, along with a few who had inadvertently come without their knitting.

This is what I saw. How about you?